Monthly Archives: August 2015

Is There a Wrong Way To Grieve For A Pet?

In my 42 years on this planet I have lost 2 grandmothers, 2 grandfathers, 2 Aunts, 2 Uncles, my Mom, 4 dogs, and 1 cat. 2 of the dogs lived to be 20, 1 was a Black Lab Husky mix and the other was a German Shepherd mix that looked like a wolf. The cat was an indoor cat and lived to be 22. Having to euthanize a sick pet that is only almost 7 kills me. I admit I do not handle death well since my mother’s passing 7 years ago. Animals have always been hard on me, I’ve always had a special connection with them. Even the most aggressive animals change around me. (This was observed by several other people I’m not delusional) I’ve given CPR to several dogs but no humans. I have more compassion and empathy for animals than humans. Maybe because what you see is what you get. You know in the wild it’s survival of the fittest. The other animals don’t lie to you, if you’re the weak one then guess what? You’re gone. But some do know about a love and loyalty so fierce they would kill for it. I have found that lacking in the Society around me.

My dad was sobbing uncontrollably this morning when I told him we had to let our Chihuahua go. This man was in the Navy, has tattoos on his forearms like Popeye and worked a blue collar job. But he loved that dog. He would hold him in his arms like a baby and sing to him some made up song he thought was funny. Pookie would only respond to my voice which is kind of high pitched and a little cartoonish. My father would have to imitate me to get him to come in from outside. I would hide and laugh until tears rolled down my cheeks and I started coughing. Pookie slept with my dad every night curled up next to his head on his pillow. When I was feeling extremely low Pookie would somehow know. He would look at me and then run as fast as he could to jump in my lap and lick my eyes where tears had started. I have since read that Chihuahuas are the best dogs for people with Bipolar Disorder because they can sense their moods. I know Pookie could.

A few people have already expressed their opinions that “it’s just a dog”. No, he wasn’t. He was family. He helped more than most of my actual family.

Did my sister answer her phone? No. Her father is in a ball crying and I’m right along with him and she doesn’t answer her phone. Am I surprised? No. My father has cried in front of me a total of 5 times in 42 years. He doesn’t show emotion easily. I called my brother in law and he said ” I don’t know what you expect her to do about any of it”. How about just calling your f**king father and offering support instead of leaving it all to me as usual? My sister doesn’t care about animals and apparently she doesn’t care about her family either.

I will cry, scream, and grieve for as long as it takes. He was my dog, my best friend, and I loved him. If the rest of the world doesn’t understand I feel sorry for you.


Where Has The Compassion In Medicine Gone?

On August 14th my father dropped me off at the hospital for my biopsy. It was outpatient surgery. My sister was supposed to come as soon as she could. My dad couldn’t stay because he had dialysis. I was scared, nervous, and in pain. I had stents put in previously to keep the ureters open so my kidneys wouldn’t fail again. The Urologist was going to biopsy the ureters and change the stents. I’m not good with anesthesia. I was quietly waiting for things to start.

The entire team that would be in the room came over to talk to me. They had just given me a mild sedative. The Urologist is making jokes at my expense. He says to everyone “This one is trouble! The demands she makes! WOW! She is demanding!” At this point he does a little hop. The head of Anesthesia says “She won’t be doing that in my hospital!” The entire time I’m lying there wanting to defend myself but can’t. I found myself unable to speak. The Urologist made me look like a “problem” patient before they even started. I was angry and confused. I wanted to tell at him. I wanted to tell him “Demanding? Your lucky I’m not 250 pounds and a drunk anymore because I’d shove my size 8 1/2 shoe up your ass” but I just stayed quiet.

They wound up taking biopsies from my bladder and kidney as well. The Urologist called my sister and told her he thought I would still need another biopsy where they do a coring of the ureter. So I’ll have to go under again. I had to be intubated which I’m not fond of and they never mentioned. I cried coming out of anesthesia. No one cares and my sister hadn’t shown up. I had seen my mother while under and didn’t want to come back. A nurse had blown a vein without my knowing it. The doctor didn’t talk to me just my sister. She showed up a half hour late to pick me up then yelled at me for being upset.

Why don’t the doctors take the time to read my chart? To see that I am Bipolar and have Conversion Disorder. And also see that I watched my mom die in that same hospital. Why don’t they know the mind and the body are connected? Why would they make jokes knowing I am scared and vulnerable? Telling them the last time to just leave under and don’t bring me back should have clued them in. My sister? She is who she is. That isn’t going to change. I’m alone in this and I better get used to it.

What I Thought And What It Is: Being A Twin

She came out 5 minutes after me. A beautiful blue eyed baby girl. Right away they said she was different than me. She demanded her bottle, pushed my hand away from her, and knew what she wanted. I was the quieter one, patiently waiting to be noticed or for my turn to come.

I had problems early on with things like nosebleeds in my crib. It was the kind on wheels and unfortunately one night I had stood up and smeared blood all over the walls while rocking the crib across the floor. My parents had gone out for the evening so when the babysitter came in she thought I had been stabbed and called the police. Not good. So I mistakenly received attention. I also had a habit of rocking or bouncing my head to get to sleep or in the car. Another oddity. As twins my mother liked to dress us the same. We’re fraternal but people still had trouble telling us apart. My sister loathed the idea. I didn’t mind.

Starting in kindergarten they separated us. Twins were not allowed to be in the same classes at all. This frightened me and excited/relieved my sister.

I was not allowed to have the same friends as my sister. This was her rule not mine.

As we got older she would borrow money from me for rent or food. I never got it back but I thought she’s my twin sister it’s ok.

She never liked it when I introduced her as my twin sister. She would say ” Why do you have to do that? Why does everyone have to know we are twins? Why does it matter?”

It mattered because no one will ever know her or love her longer or stronger than I do.

I always thought twins shared a special bond. We don’t. I’ve tried so hard to get her to love and accept me, to just spend time with me, I have begged. It falls on deaf ears. When she says she can’t because she’s meeting friends I want to scream. She knows why I’m asking. She knows I’m at the end of my rope. She just doesn’t want to deal with it. But she expects me to deal with her issues or she’ll never talk to me again.

I’m having a biopsy on Friday and it’s risky. My poor dad has to drop me off before going to dialysis because she has to meet her friend. She might be there when I wake up. The Dr. called last night for me to get a prescription because when I went for my pre-op test the urine test was complete blood. It even shocked the lab tech. So this biopsy is now riskier. I do not do well with anesthesia. I usually wake up crying. I am better if I see a familiar face. Why did I always think we should be closer? That being twins gave us a special bond? Was it the movies, tv, books, or my own imagination? This is another feeling of grief I can’t let go of.


I have a tendency to talk about my Bipolar Disorder more than my Alcoholism. I knew myself as an Alcoholic for much longer than I knew I was Bipolar. I was 16 going on 17 when I first got drunk. I had sips of my dad’s beer when I was little but didn’t truly know the feeling of being drunk until that night. I remember my best friend calling all excited. She told me to get ready we were going to a party. I was scared and knew I wouldn’t look as good as the other girls. When she told me who would be in the car with her I felt worse. The 2 most popular guys in our town and the surrounding towns. It was the late 80’s early 90’s. They both had long hair. One looked like Slash from Gun N Roses and was in a band, the other had black straight hair with bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. I did my best.

We were on the freeway for about 5 minutes when the Rumplemintz came out. I’m probably spelling it wrong but it was mint schnapps. I took the first big gulp. After that it didn’t matter if I was fat or ugly. The alcohol made that feeling disappear. Another plus was I could suddenly talk and crack jokes. I was a little bitchy and sarcastic but it came across as confident. This was attractive for a little while anyway.

Through my 20 years of drinking there were some good times. Concerts, meeting bands, parties, always going out somewhere. I really did love meeting bands, I can’t say they felt same about me but I wasn’t thrown off any buses. My best friend and I laughed a lot at times.

When there were bad times they were really bad. Fights, arrests, a DUI, suicide attempts, waking up in strange places with strange people, not remembering if I consented to things, getting beat up, making my mom cry and probably my dad too. Also the loss of trust, friends, money, self-esteem, jobs, and the will to live.

It was a continuing cycle of self abuse I thought I deserved. I belonged at the bottom of the barrel because I was nothing. I had thought this way since I was 12. At first the alcohol helped, it wasn’t a depressant for me. I could drink all night long and be somewhat hyper. But there were times it would turn on me and I couldn’t stop it. At these times I would look for something else to go with the alcohol. I wonder how I am still alive sometimes. My tolerance for alcohol and any stimulant was so high the amounts I could do scared the people around me.

The last straw was when my best friend had had enough. It took her 20 years of watching me try to destroy myself before she finally couldn’t do it anymore.

I quit drinking cold turkey and went to a psychiatrist. I had been on antidepressants for years. It was time to really deal with things and find out if more was going on. There was. I was diagnosed as Bipolar and with Conversion Disorder. Anxiety and Social Phobia was thrown in too. I got a second opinion. The second doctor didn’t know how I had made it as far as I did. I almost didn’t many times. My parents kept me alive. I’m only sorry my mom didn’t get to see me. Sober for over 6 years now, I do it for me, I do it for her. I love you.

the self portrait project

the self portrait project.

Self Portrait



You don’t know how insignificant this life can make you feel. When you are someone like me who has never really said what they wanted to say it’s even harder. I’ve always been quiet except when drinking. People asked why I was always so sad or angry looking and quiet. Now I talk too much and I’m told to shut up. I stutter often when upset and spend most of my time alone. So it means more than anyone will ever know that anyone actually reads this. My family hates that I blog. They think that I’ll get in trouble somehow. Don’t worry Mr. Sixx my rock star days are behind me. I’m too sick to care. It’s called priorities. My father’s health, my health and trying to be happy for what’s left of it.

To Laugh or Cry? That is The Question.

Sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing or feeling. I get consumed by the smallest things. It’s always been people, places, and things with me. I’m like a dog with a bone on some topics. I know this is annoying to others. To me it’s a way of coping.

I loathe the way the media portrays the mentally ill or anyone with mental health issues. Lately this is all you see on the big news networks. To stockpile all of us into the same group causes more stigma, shame, misinformation, isolation and the system to fail even more than it does now. We are not all monsters to be shunned and locked away.

The healthcare system plays a big part in the lives of the mentally ill. Resources are limited and stigma is also a big factor. Research shows it negatively impacts a person’s desire to get help. They are less likely to divulge their mental health condition.

In around 50% of cases Mental Health and Addiction begin by age 14. About 75% present symptoms by age 24. And still the System fails. I can’t hold a press conference about it but others can contributing to the misinformation and stigma.

On a different note. Making friends. Or keeping friends. I have one that I have to cut loose. She calls once in awhile. It always starts the same. ” I’ve missed you! How have you been? I’ve been worried!” Then it goes to ” Can I borrow $200?” or ” Do you have some Adderall I can have?”. Today I  told her if she was that desperate to go a town near us and a certain bar and buy some coke. She didn’t catch the sarcasm. She just said “Why do you know anyone?” I wanted to scream at that point and accidentally send her to the cop bar that’s near the other bar. I didn’t.

I’m scheduled for my biopsy next Friday. My dad has dialysis and can’t take me so I asked my sister. She said she couldn’t because she has plans with her friends. So now my dad is taking me early before dialysis and just dropping me off. I’ll be alone. They have to put me under and it’s a risky procedure. They have to replace the stents keeping my kidneys working too. I’ll be alone when I wake up and have a tendency to cry after anesthesia but I have no choice. So today I just laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and ate 2 gluten free chocolate toffee cupcakes.

Just Walk On By

I left the house today. I haven’t been doing much of that often. It’s gotten worse since I started taking the generic Adderall from Aurobindo Pharma. So instead of 1 and 1/2 tablets I took 2. There was way less crying, no stuttering and I could leave the house. Just one small problem, I still feel the effects 13 hours later. It took longer to kick in too. I’ll go back to my original dose tomorrow. I see my doctor on the 11th and will discuss it with him.

I took a walk through town today and saw a man I used to work with years ago. He stopped me to say hello and asked how I was doing. He asked about my dad too. The entire time he looked at his watch and the other people walking by. He interrupted me and said he had to go.

If anyone sees me in the future and you’re not really interested in anything I have to say you just think you’re doing a good deed or the polite thing, don’t. I feel worse after. I’m not an idiot. I can tell when someone isn’t listening or really couldn’t care less. So just let me keep walking. Pretend you didn’t see me or recognize me. I don’t care. I get enough fake people as it is. Every time I go to the pharmacy, a doctor, or talk to a relative. I’m not paranoid or over sensitive that’s just the way it is. I don’t have to prove or validate it to anyone. I’m tired of feeling like I do or being questioned about a situation. “Are you sure that’s what was said or is that how YOU interpreted it?” I’m done explaining. Either way if it made me feel bad, sad, or uncomfortable I have a right to those feelings. End of story.

ENOUGH! Why Entertainers Should Stay Out of Laws That Affect Me

While understanding the need for gun control specifically with recent horrific events, I feel the need to speak out about another matter. Mental Health.

All over the news today is an actress who along with her cousin has come up with a strategy to help with this problem. Amy Shumer  said in a quote ” No one wants to live in a country where a felon, the mentally ill or other dangerous people can get their hands on a gun with such ease.” Thank you for lumping me in with “other dangerous people” when I am STATISTICALLY at HIGHER RISK for VIOLENCE being DONE TO ME rather than me COMMITTING VIOLENCE. I wouldn’t even be able to protect myself if someone tried to hurt me. I would like to ask if Ms. Schumer has ever seen some of the places mentally ill people have to live. You would want at least some pepper spray. I am hoping I do not have to live there yet.

I like to travel when I feel up to it but travel alone. I have nothing to protect myself if my car breaks down in the middle of the night. Of course I am not saying I would have a gun but when will it end? Can I carry pepper spray? A stun gun? A fork? I’m not violent but I would like to be able to make that choice. Being diagnosed as Bipolar shouldn’t stop that. If someone is going to do an act of violence it was always in them, buying the gun didn’t wake up that feeling. They are going to find a way to do what they feel is a need to do. If it isn’t a gun they will change the plan, fire, grenade, knife, there are so many ways we humans have come up with to hurt each other if there is determination there is a way.

Senator Shumer wants 2 compel all 50 states to send information about felons, spousal abusers, and the adjudicated mentally ill to the federal government for the National Background Check System, also to survey the states on their standards for involuntary commitment for the mentally ill. He wants to get Congress to fully fund mental health and substance abuse programs. They can’t even get the FDA enough funding to properly check the generic drugs the mentally ill are taking.

When you use celebrities for your agenda or they speak out they need to know all the facts and choose their words wisely. You can’t lump all mentally ill people together, or think every ex-con is going to rob or kill you. Hollywood and the Music business is filled with both by the way. I wonder what they think?

My life is an open book. If you want a background check fine, you won’t find anything I have not already disclosed at some point. The problem I have is the assumption I’m a danger or a threat to anyone but myself. I have a hard enough time out in public without the added stress of public ridicule.

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